MRS. F. Great bags of stones ! they're pretty things to help

a boat to swim !

BOATMAN. The wind is fresh — if she don't scud, it's not the

breeze's fault !

Mrs. F. Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of salt!

BOATMAN. That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with

oranges and nuts !

Mrs. F. If seas have roads, they ’re very rough — I never

felt such ruts!

BOATMAN. It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and could n't

pass the bar.

Mrs. F. The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I won

der where they are !

BOATMAN. Ho! Brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber

cannot steer!

MRS. F. Yes, yes,— hard up upon a rock! I know some danger 's near!

[ing like a bull ! Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in ! and roar

BOATMAN. Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill !

keep her full!

Mrs. F. What, keep her full ! what daring work ! when

full, she must go down !

BOATMAN. Why, Bill, it lulls ! ease off a bit — it's coming

off the town! Steady your helm ! we'll clear the Pint! lay

right for yonder pink !

Mrs. F. Be steady - well, I hope they can! but they 've • got a pint of drink !

BOATMAN. Bill, give that sheet another haul - she'll fetch

it up this reach.

MRS. F. I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it

by that speech !

I wonder what it is, now, but —


I never felt so


Bill, mind your luff — why Bill, I say, she's

yawing - keep her near!

Mrs. F. Keep near! we're going further off; the land's

behind our backs.

BOATMAN. Be easy, Ma’am, it's all correct, that's only 'cause

we tacks : We shall have to beat about a bit,— Bill, keep her

out to sea.

MRS. F. Beat who about? keep who at sea ? - how black

they look at me!

Boatman. It's veering round – I knew it would ! off with

her head ! stand by !

MRS. F. Off with her head! whose? where? what with ?

- an axe I seem to spy !

BOATMAN. She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall

have to pull her in!

Mrs. F. They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's

not worth a pin!

BOATMAN. Look out you know, be ready, Bill — just when

she takes the sand !

MRS. F. The sand — O Lord ! to stop my mouth! how

every thing is planned !

BOATMAN. The handspike, Bill — quick, bear a hand! now

Ma'am, just step ashore !

MRS. F. What! ain't I going to be killed — and weltered

in my gore ? Well, Heaven be praised ! but I'll not go a sailing

any more!


The March of Mind upon its mighty stilts, (A spirit by no means to fasten mocks on,) In travelling through Berks, Beds, Notts, and

Wilts, Hants — Bucks, Herts, Oxon, Got up a thing our ancestors ne'er thought on, A thing that, only in our proper youth, We should have chuckled at — in sober truth, A Conversazione at Hog's Norton !

A place whose native dialect, somehow,
Has always by an adage been affronted,
And that it is all gutterals, is now

Taken for grunted.

Conceive the snoring of a greedy swine,
The slobbering of a hungry Ursine Sloth —
If you have ever heard such creature dine –
And — for Hog's Norton, make a mix of both! -

O shades of Shakspeare! Chaucer ! Spenser !

Milton! Pope! Gray! Warton ! O Colman! Kenny! Planche! Poole! Peake!

Pocock ! Reynolds ! Morton ! VOL. III.


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